Currents
by Down the Rabbit Hole
Summary: Rurouni Kenshin and Highlander crossover. 3 people, 3 meetings, 3 situations. Saitou Hajime, Shinomori Aoshi and Himura Kenshin may be Immortals but they haven’t changed that much.
1. Ficlet 1: Saitou Hajime

Ficlet 1: Saitoh Hajime

**Fandom**:Highlander/ Rurouni Kenshin crossover  
**Rating**: pg-13  
**Pairings**: none.  
**Disclaimer**: not mine. Any person or concept you recognise from Highlander is the propriety of Rysher: Panzer/Davis. Anyone or anything from Rurouni Kenshin belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki. No harm meant, just playing in the sandbox.

**Summary for the ensemble: **3 people, 3 meetings, 3 situations. Saitou Hajime, Shinomori Aoshi and Himura Kenshin may be Immortals but they haven't changed that much.

**Summary: **Join law enforcement. Meet interesting people._

* * *

Washington D.C., 1995_

The first time agent Matthew McCormick heard about the man the Japanese had sent to assist the FBI with a Yakuza case, it was through the water cooler gossip.

"Fuck, the man's an asshole."

A short discussion later, the Immortal had learned Hajime Saitou was the Devil Incarnate. He was also treated to a list of the man's most notable features. Arrogance, condescension, viciousness, ruthlessness, sexism and other marks of, quote, _utter evilness_, unquote. Competence was also mentioned with admiration but grudgingly. Very grudgingly.

McCormick shook his head, reminded his colleagues the man would be off back to Japan before long and put the affair out of mind to work on his own case.

Until he followed the ring of Immortal presence and found the smoking man in an empty conference room. Tall, lean and fit, the Japanese had wolf-like features and his amber eyes only added to the overall predatory expression. The deceptively relaxed lean against the wall did nothing to diminish the impression of danger he gave off. A killer's aura. No wonder McCormick's colleagues were on edge. "Hajime Saitou. I'm Matthew McCormick," he added a curt nod in greetings.

In response, the Japanese blew a trail of smoke and smiled wolfishly. "Going to challenge?" Serious words but mocking tone. Saitou's grasp of English was perfect, no traces of accents in his voice. So, the man wasn't a new Immortal and was at least old enough to have poise and confidence and to have picked up one second language perfectly. Good. But that left other problems.

"As far as I'm aware, being an asshole is not a punishable offence yet," McCormick commented mildly. To the dare, he gave no reaction. Neither to the fact Saitou hadn't straightened from his position, the picture of condescension face to someone who wasn't worth being considered as a threat or an equal. He hadn't made it to his age by being a hot-headed fool and if anything, that response earned him a sharper smile and a glint of appreciation in the unsettling eyes.

"Oh? A law enforcer till the end, then."

"It's a calling like any other," he replied calmly.

Saitou nodded and took another drag out of his cigarette. "What a coincidence."

At those words, McCormick refined his view of the strange Immortal with what he was allowed to see. A dangerous man, yes; one who killed more readily than most, certainly. But also one who lived for the spirit of the law, if not the letter and for whom the Game was merely collateral. In this they were kindred spirits.

But that didn't mean McCormick wouldn't research him. The law could be abused too. He had no doubt Saitou would do the same. And somehow, he had a feeling neither of them was going to find much.

Meanwhile, Saitou finished his cigarette and ground it in a half-full ashtray. "A pleasure talking to you," he added as an idle afterthought as he paused beside the other Immortal before leaving the room. McCormick watched him go. The walk was graceful. Saitou would probably be strong and fast too. Not a man to be crossed idly. But an asshole, certainly. The FBI agent snorted as he looked at the ashtray and the non-smoking sign lying nearby.

That wasn't worth challenging the wolf-man over. But Saitou would bear watching. Later, though. Right now, McCormick had better things to do with his time and criminals to catch.

**  
End**.


	2. Ficlet 2: Shinomori Aoshi

Ficlet 2 : Shinomori Aoshi

**Summary: **Amanda planning a heist and Aoshi on the rampage. Never good.

* * *

_Paris, Mars 1999_

"You want us to what?" Amanda didn't lose her cool often. It wasn't good for blood pressure - her mortal friends', not hers - and it ruined a girl's image. But this time, she was willing to make an exception as she shared an incredulous look with Nick.

"You heard fine the first time," the monotonous voice on the other side of the table replied. "Steal his files."

Yep, Amanda had heard fine the first time. She took a sip of coffee to regain composure. She had also heard the terms bloodthirsty immortal drug dealer. That wasn't what she had expected when the strange Immortal opposite her had come to her club on the closed evening of the week and announced he was hiring both Nick and her. She was a daring thief. Not a suicidal one.

Nick spoke her mind, leaning over the table. "You just spent half an hour explaining how paranoid that son of a bitch was about these files. If you're right, the only time they're not in a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist and surrounded by guards is at night, when they're in a safe in his top security property with even more armed guards and his own immortal ass in the same room. There's no way she can steal them without him realising."

The green-eyed Japanese in front of them remained unfazed. "The night of the heist, his immortal ass won't be there. The rest can be taken care of." He spread the blued prints he had brought on the table and took out numerous files from his briefcase. "A plan of the property, a copy of the security systems, the codes, the guards' schedule and all you may want to know about them and more."

Raising an eyebrow, Amanda studied the documents. The info was detailed and everything she would need was there. Still, the security was extremely tight. It wouldn't be an easy operation. "Why us?"

"You both have reputation as good people. And Amanda Darieux is the best thief around." Amanda and Nick blinked in astonishment. They had expected another cold and rational fact. And actually, the iceman's delivery made the words facts. But praise from him seemed rather surprising, even if deserved. Amanda reconsidered the man and pouted. Tall, dark and handsome needed to learn to smile. If only he developed a personality, he would raise any female's interest in no time.

"She went straight," Nick corrected by habit, finally recovering. "What he said," she added belatedly when her partner glared at her.

"You still have the skills. However else you choose to see yourself is of no importance to me."

And Amanda resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Had the man never heard of tact? Honey to catch flies, not vinegar, and so on… But she was curious herself. "I have a feeling you're good enough to steal these yourself. Why don't you do it?"

"The one reason for which Kazuya would be willing to leave his files without his supervision is a challenge."

"You-"

"I want him down and I want his organisation stopped. The police can't do anything without sufficient proof. You will give them the files. Leave the rest to me."

Nick opened his mouth. Closed it. "It's your head."

Amanda's reaction was a considering tilt of the head, hands still resting lightly on her crossed knees. She didn't know either Kazuya or the Immortal in front of her. But she'd rather side with the one who didn't sell drugs and she didn't think she needed to be worried about his head. He was much too calm and collected to be anything but confident in his ability to win. "What about our payment?"

He scribbled a number and the thief took a look at it. And also took a decision. "No. Pay for the equipment we'll need but no more. You'll owe us a favour."

He studied them both with his unreadable green eyes. "One favour for the both of you, to repay as I see fit, as long as it doesn't interfere with my duties and responsibilities."

"Amanda!" Nick hissed. She ignored him. She hadn't expected the Japanese to agree so easily. Money, she could have anytime. Information was much trickier to find and from the documents on the table, he had a very good network. Kazuya had arrived from Japan less than one week ago. The man in front of them had apparently followed him not long after and he had info she'd have needed weeks at least to gather. "Fine. But I also want your first name. And the response to one question."

"Ask."

"You're not a Good Samaritan or a Boy Scout. I know the type. So why are you doing this?" It was none of her business. But that man was dangerous. Nick and she would be safer if she knew how he worked.

"Kazuya hurt friends of mine. He's going to pay." And for the first time, Amanda saw a flicker of emotion in the man's face. Fury. Not the anger that hurt or clouded sight. Not the berserker rage that left nothing but ruins in its wake either but close. A cold fury that channelled energy into intent and would stop at nothing before its goal was accomplished. Kazuya was going down and _hard_.

Amanda repressed a shiver until the moment passed and the green eyes were seas of impassibility again. "The name is Aoshi Shinomori. You'll find me if you really need this favour." The reformed thief nodded in understanding. "Here's my cell number, in case you have a problem," Shinomori handed a card and nodded briskly, signalling the end of the meeting and getting up to leave them with their planning.

"Interesting man," Nick commented when he was out of sight.

_Very interesting._ Amanda grinned and blinked innocently when Nick eyed her suspiciously. It had been some time since she had talked to Joe. _Time to catch up on old friends._

**End**


	3. Ficlet 3: Himura Kenshin

Ficlet 3: Himura Kenshin

**Summary: **a peaceful meeting in a park.

**Warning**: There be footnotes here. Beware their frightening power.

* * *

_Location(?), July 2003_

_Is, isn't, is, isn't… _Methos mused lightly as he approached his target. A few more steps and Immortal presence rolled over him like a wave. _**Is**. My, long time no see, _he grinned as the man he was watching looked up, short red hair catching first the light and then the eye like a beacon.

_MacLeod'd be stunned to see me actually initiate contact with another Immortal._ Methos preferred to avoid them on general principles but as Amanda could tell anyone willing to listen and a few who weren't, rules were made to be bended. He was in a good mood, the day was warm and sunny, there were witnesses in the park and unless the diminutive Japanese had changed drastically, the other Immortal wasn't inclined to challenge. Anyway, the younger man had claimed the best spot: not far enough to be out of sight but still isolated enough the other Saturday strollers weren't a bother and under a tree with perfect shade to laze about with a good book.(1)

The paperback in his hand tingled at the thought but Methos set it aside in favour of addressing the other Immortal as he flopped down on the grass beside him. "Great day, isn't it?"

Himura Kenshin as he was known a century and some ago, or rather Kenshin Himura on these occidental shores, greeted him with a smile and closed his own book. "_Aa_. That it is, Mitchell-sensei." The blue-violet eyes were as warm as Methos remembered, as much of a startling feature on a Japanese as the red hair and as distinctive as the cross-shaped scar the bangs couldn't quite hide on the left cheek. Once again, Methos was thoroughly amused by the fact a man who had his first death at thirty barely looked in his twenties if he wasn't careful.

"I go by Adam Pierson, these days," Methos corrected mildly. "You look well."

"So do you," Kenshin replied sincerely. "I've taken my name back," he added to answer the silent question. Methos nodded in acknowledgement and stretched his arms. _Time to get serious…_

"Well, Kenshin… Now that the polite niceties are out of the way, tell me you're not an idiot and you're not unarmed." His smile promised hell to pay if he didn't hear the correct answer.

"Oro?" The red head started and blinked at the sudden switch. A split second later, a flash of comprehension crossed his face, chagrin close on its heels as he shook his head and muttered ruefully, "You're almost as bad as _shishou_.(2)" Methos merely raised a sardonic eyebrow. Kenshin only wore a blue sweatshirt and some cream pants, a discarded vest lying beside a worn backpack on the ground. The younger Immortal's clothes might hide a few knives if he was sensible but certainly not a sword.

"For a man who claims to have no care, you worry a lot," Kenshin added, a fondly amused smile settling on his lips.

For a second, Methos entertained the idea of automatic denial. But the man in front of him used to be highly sensitive to people's feelings and the dark-haired man didn't think this had changed. "It's vested interest," he retorted instead. "I lost a decade arguing with you. I thought we had reached an agreement."

"It was nine years and you spent half of those in Kyoto," Kenshin corrected automatically.

"And whose fault was that, anyway?" Methos huffed, waving the responsibility away from him like an annoying fly. "It's not everyday I get saddled with three new Immortals in two different cities at once and don't have anyone else available to foist them on.(3) And weapons, Himura," he reminded, long-suffering. "You do remember what those look like, do you?"

"Things that are painful when you're on their wrong end?" The reply was swift and Methos gazed away to hide a smug grin. Kenshin was much more fun when his deeply hidden sense of repartee and humour resurfaced. _And for **some** reason, being condescending, holier and wiser than thou and mocking his abilities is the way to go to get these results.(4)_

"You're terrible." Kenshin sighed.

"It's a rare gift," the older man agreed easily. "So, how have you been?"

When the silence lasted a moment too long, Methos looked back to find the red head regarding him intently. "I changed swords about sixteen years ago.(5)" And _that_ brought the conversation back to weaponry and Kenshin's foolishness. _He used to carry sakabatou because he had vowed never to kill again. If he has changed swords…_

"Ah. Any particular reason?" The dark-haired man didn't try to feign indifference but didn't push either. In the nine years Methos had spent in Japan during the Meiji era, they had become friends, yes. But they had never had a normal teacher/student relationship. For starters, Kenshin and his two companions hadn't needed any lesson in swordsmanship. _And he already had his shishou_. Methos had never met the man, the more the pity. _An extraordinary man, to judge from his impact on Kenshin. _

"A fool was hounding me and refused to keep it between just us," Kenshin's eventual explanation brought him back to the present, to a voice cool as ice and the barest hint of amber in violet eyes.

"And if he had?"

"Then I would have applied the terms of our arrangement. I'd have killed him, left him his broken sword and a knife at his neck in warning. And one day, I'd have run out of luck." Kenshin sighed and closed his eyes. There were fully violet and sad when he opened them again. "You were right. I couldn't have kept this up all my life. Someone would've smarted up or become familiar with my style. And I would have lost."

Methos nodded gravely. "So, the _Hitokiri_ _Battousai_ killed again and Himura Kenshin didn't lose his sanity. I told you you were stronger than you knew."

Kenshin tensed up imperceptibly before tilting his head to consider Methos. After a moment, he smiled and replied on a half-chiding, half-teasing tone. "If the oldest man in the world could act his age sometimes, I'd have listened to him more readily."

And _that_ set Methos' mind racing and made him curse his way through a few languages before winding down. _Lying is no use on him and he'll recognise an evasion. Damn. How the hell did he find out? Curse the inbred son of a whore that gave him that idea, may he suffer incontinence equal to his oral leak, may boils cover his worthless hide so that even awhore wouldn't want to touch him- , _

Kenshin's smile had lost its edge by the time Methos had calmed himself, leaving only kindness and warm and faint bemusement at the profanity. _And the eyes are also still as calm as ever._ _Accepting. _Kenshin didn't make promises he couldn't keep but Methos knew the red head wouldn't take advantage of this knowledge all the same. The old Immortal shook his head, irritated but resigned. He wouldn't challenge someone who _would_ keep the secret just for knowing and all in all, Kenshin wasn't the worst person to know. _At the very least, he's more discreet than others I could name_.

_Well, what's done is done. It's no use getting worked up over it._ Time in monasteries had taught him some interesting meditation tricks. He took a steadying breath, settled for being amused and tilted his head sardonically, "If I acted my age, I'd be senile and decrepit. How did you know?"

"Were you aware a former Watcher turned Immortal by the name of Adam Pierson worked on the Methos Chronicles? The Watchers should stop thinking they're the only one able to spy and stop gossiping where they can be heard, that they should." Kenshin laughed softly.

_He knows about Watchers? Wait, active eavesdropping? That's not his style but more- _Methos snorted suddenly. "The damn ninja is to thank for this info, I suppose?"(6) He didn't wait for Kenshin's amused nod and chuckled, finally putting pieces together. "I should have realised the three of you wouldn't be on the database." He had never found traces of them in the Watchers Chronicles and had half figured them out of the Game. He had forgotten they were very good at detecting spies.

Oh gods, now he thought about it, he could very well imagine the merry chase Aoshi could lead the Watchers into if they ever got suspicious of him.(7) The master spy probably thought them rank amateurs. And Kenshin could be every bit as bad, if he felt in the mood for mischief.(8) Saitou…. He winced. Saitou Hajime was probably content merely staying under the Watcher's radar. But he would be merciless if they were to offend his sense of justice. Methos hoped the man never heard of the Horton or Shapiro messes. At least, not this decade or during the next five. He liked some of the current Watchers and Saitou would hunt them down to the last.

"We do not mind people recording history. For some Immortals, the Watchers' records will be their only legacy," Kenshin was still smiling quietly. "But even if it sounds hypocrite, for us to be watched… It goes against what we are, that it does." _So they won't say anything to other Immortals but they will **not** allow themselves to be watched. Figures. A former assassin, a former spy and a former Shinsengumi whose life philosophy is aku, soku, zan. The Watchers can consider themselves lucky that these three are honourable enough not to kill them._

But Kenshin hadn't mentioned Watchers killing Immortals. Aoshi would eventually catch that piece of gossip and pass it along. Methos could either let this happen or tell them himself. _Later. I haven't seen Kenshin in over a century, I'll pick a serious topic another day. _"How are the others, by the way?"

"The last time I ran into Saitou was over ten years ago but Aoshi would have warned me if something had happened.(9) He and I keep in touch. They're fine."

"And you?"

Kenshin seemed sheepish. "I had an accident with my coats. I'm having new ones commissioned and they'll be ready later today. But I'm still armed." _Just not with a sword. _Methos looked him over and bit back a laugh. Kenshin was really too short to hide even a short sword without a coat and he knew it. "What about you? Are you in town for long?"

"I've _moved_ here," Methos frowned. "You live here? Where were you these two past months?"

The red head blinked. "Out of town. A friend needed help."

_A friend needed help._ _Help that lasted two months_. The older man stared. _And some time during that period, he lost all his coats. _Something clicked in his mind. _Oh fuck, that's **Kenshin**. Kenshin. Trouble. Honey. Flies._

"Oh no, this is not happening," he groaned, hiding his face in his arms and resisting the urge to pound his head against something hard. _I'll have headaches soon enough. _"There is no way in hell I'm introducing you to the Highlander. You've both got enough of a hero complex on your own already."

"Oro?"

"Don't oro me, Himura." _Where are the clouds of doom when you need them? The bell tolls?_ He started to laugh helplessly, a sense of inevitability filling him. "This is a quiet town, they said. People will look for Duncan MacLeod in Paris or Seacouver first. It'll be some time before trouble heads this way. _Bullshit_." He raised the head and eyed Kenshin with a grin, already starting to formulate damage control plans. "You free this evening? There's a new blues bar opening in town."

_Joe's bar is going to become Immortal central. Again. Now, how to convince him to keep Kenshin off his journals? _The red head in question was looking at him quizzically, innocence incarnate to any who didn't know him. _And I've got to get Mac to spar with him. That's going to make him stop underestimating smaller opponents nicely._

_Oh well._ Methos closed his eyes, a reluctant grin still tugging at his lips. The next few years would be entertaining, at the very least.

_And if push came to shove,_ an idle thought crossed his mind,_ I hear Bora Bora is nice this time of the year._

**  
End**

* * *

1: That was his excuse and he was sticking to it. 

2: Being as bad as Hiko probably would have been: "Hey, stupid pupil, if you're trying to get killed, do it off my mountain/territory/out of my sight."

3: That being the least of his problems at the time. The friends and family who had taken everything into stride and told the new immortals they weren't getting away from them that easily threw him off for longer. Realising Kenshin's best friend's shrugged comment ("Well, at least, you don't need to worry about food poisoning from the Missy anymore") was actually serious for longer yet. To be precise, panic filled him after each dinner invitation he received from the Kamya Dojo until he could find out whose turn it was to cook. Methos always prided himself on his survival instincts and his ability to recognize lethal stuff when he could see it.

4: Add in harassment and ammunition in the form of every little childhood embarrassment a grown-up'd like to forget and you have Hiko Seijouro the Thirteen in all his child-raising and teaching/training #cough# torturing #cough# glory. Amazing how well Kenshin turned out.

5: Bought in Nash Antiques, New York, 87. The first one anyway. Connor MacLeod raised an eyebrow and forged a set of paired swords himself when the first katana was brought back in pieces. All blades were paid at least double the price. Well, Connor _knew_ what they would be used for.

6: And elsewhere on the planet, Shinimori Aoshi sneezed.

7: Make-up for bruises. Fake casts. A wicked mind. And funny mushrooms left in Aoshi's possession by Takani Megumi for dubious reasons. He made good use of them.

8: Reminded Aoshi of Megumi's dubious gift, among other things. Instigated a bet about the Watchers. How long will it take them to realise a tiny red-headed Japanese sometimes wearing pink and with blade scars on the left cheek shows up now and then in other Immortals' chronicles? Aoshi bet over 200 years. Kenshin is nicer and bet under. Kenshin is now 153 years old. The Watchers still have no clue.

9: Nothing of note happened during that meeting. Baring the fact Saitou saw the new sword, raised an eyebrow and didn't make his customary offer to take Kenshin's head.

* * *

Translations: 

Aa: informal yes.

Shishou: master/teacher. I think.

Sakabatou: reversed blade

Hitokiri: manslayer, assassin

Hitokiri Battousai: Kenshin's nickname during the revolution that ended in 1867.

Aku. Soku. Zan:Basically, kill evil swiftly.


	4. Ficlet 4: Positive ID

**Ficlet 4: Positive ID**

Disclaimer: Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's. In other terms, this one is Vathara's fault. Ultimately, the usual suspects are also to blame, these people being the creators and owners of Rurouni Kenshin and Highlander. And the song _Travelin' Light _is from Eric Clapton. Me? I'm just along for the ride.

Summary: the evening after.

Warning: There be footnotes here. Beware the frightening power of the footnotes.

* * *

_  
City(?), July 2003 _

_The bar's a hit tonight, _Joe grinned in sheer pleasure as he made his way to the bar at a snail's pace, the previously shushed crowd now clamouring for his attention. It seemed every customer between the set and his destination wanted to congratulate him and Joe shared a word with each, basking in the ambiance and exalted as only a hour of playing music could make him. It also helped that _Joe's Bar_ was a frank success on its first evening. He had already opened a bar in Seacouver, taken over another in Paris but starting over again was always difficult. The blues man was more than a bit relieved things were going well.

Eventually, it took him close to ten minutes to cross the room and get back behind the bar. Only to be cheerfully ushered by his new barmaid towards a corner with two familiar faces. "Shoo. Take a breather, Boss, chat with you buddies."

Laughing, Joe let Karen get away with that. Mike and she seemed to have things under control and he had meant to talk with his friends. Mac had been here since the beginning of the evening but Joe had been far too busy to give him more than a passing hello and he intended to correct that immediately. As to Methos, the older Immortal must have arrived during his dig and Joe barely suppressed a surge of glee on seeing him. Curiosity immediately followed. Joe had expected the man much earlier. _Wonder what kept him away so long._

"Hey Adam, finally decided to show up?" Joe greeted him with a grin.

"There is beer here(1)," the old man raised his half-full glass in mock salute. _Of course, _the Watcher shared a look with the Highlander and they rolled their eyes, well used to Methos' manners.

"He brought a friend," Mac said helpfully.

"Really?" _Now, I'm getting somewhere. _Deciding to put off his much-anticipated discussion with Methos for later, Joe prepared to grill his friends. But before that could happen, something caught his attention in the low lights. Some peculiar movement or flash of colour and the Watcher scanned the room for the source. Back-tracked, adjusted his glance slightly and looked _lower_. A young –_and short_- red-haired Asian was heading towards their corner of the bar. _A what- Japanese? Korean? with red hair? And it looks natural too._

Methos cleared his throat to interrupt his musings and Joe turned to discover a shifty glint in his eyes. _Damn, he's up to something, _the blues man realised. Eyeing the old guy suspiciously got him nothing in return and MacLeod wasn't much help either, his carefully blank face all but confirming something was afoot but not _what_. "Joe, meet Kenshin Himura. Kenshin, Joe Dawson," Methos introduced him to the red head he had just been watching.

"You play very well, Dawson-san," the young man bowed briefly before offering a hand to shake.

"Thanks." _Blue eyes._ Joe blinked. Now that the red head was closer, he could clearly see the colour of his eyes and the cross shaped scar on the left cheek. _A Japanese with red hair and blue eyes. Young, too. _Methos snickered, a pointed and amused look on his face when the Watcher turned to glare. He stiffened as realisation hit like a hammer and just as kindly. _Oh man, I haven't let go of the kid's hand and I'm staring. Smooth, Dawson, real smooth. _

Thankfully, the kid didn't look too disturbed; rather, he was giving Methos a long-suffering look equal to Joe's best. Recovering his manners, the Watcher released the hand with a sheepish grin, "I'm Joe to friends of my friends. Even a pain in the ass like _him_." He had the satisfaction of hearing Methos huff indignantly, Mac chuckle and it earned a bright smile from the young man. "Can I get you something?"

"A beer would be fine. And please, call me Kenshin."

"Sure." Joe paused to give him a second look. Friend of the old man or not, Kenshin looked awfully young and Joe took his day job seriously. "Can I see some ID first, kiddo?"

"Oro?"

Methos spewed beer.(2) "Adam?" The Highlander thumped the old man's shaking back as Joe pulled a sponge to wipe the bar.

Kenshin breathed sharply. "This is _not_ funny," he put in, consternation warring with a sulk on his face as he handed a card to Joe. The older man took it absent-mindedly, caught up in the antics in front of him. Methos was literally laughing his ass off. "It's not my fault I look younger than I am."

For some reason, that made Methos howl even harder. Joe's eyes widened and swivelled back to Kenshin. _Immortal?_

The crossed scars were due to a blade, his brain finally decided to inform him. That wasn't common nowadays. More importantly, Kenshin had moved with uncommon grace earlier and with his coat folded across the arm(3), close by even for a trip for the men's room. _And he has callused hands_, Joe remembered the handshake.

_On the other hand, he's not in the Watcher database. _Joe was sure of that. Kenshin had more than his fair share of distinctive features, after all. An Immortal like him would be hard to miss. _And he's – short._ Almost delicate looking, like a strong wind could blow him over. _How the hell would he survive a challenge?_(4)_ Some of the guys are twice –hell, thrice his size. Even most women are taller than he is._

"Adam, breathe," Mac speaking to the wheezing man pulled Joe away from his considerations. "I'm not explaining how you laughed yourself to death in public." He turned around to wave curious onlookers off just as the Watcher tried to make eye contact with him. _Damn it, Mac, give me a hint! Is he Immortal, yes or no? _

Methos, his only other source of inside information, was no help. _No surprise there. _The man took a warped pleasure out of confusing people and right now, was too busy laughing himself sick to even run circles around the questions of a curious old mortal friend.(5) Still, he seemed to make an effort to calm himself. At least, that was before he took a look at Kenshin's annoyed expression. Then another one at Joe's face. Another round of snickers began.

"It's not funny," Kenshin insisted before lapsing into Japanese mutterings. _Definitively sulking._

"Oh, I don't know. From where I'm sitting, it's priceless," Methos grinned lazily and that, added to the calculating glint still obvious in the now bright eyes, set sirens of alarms screeching in Joe's mind. The Immortal turned to face the Watcher, "This, my friend, is really the face of a thirty year old man." The words were accompanied by a gesture towards Kenshin and a tilt of the head to the card still in Joe's hands. And an innocently concerned expression. _Oh, hell. Bullshitting mode. Machiavelli, think Machiavelli_._ And hope you survive the experience, _a quivering corner of his mind whimpered.

Bracing himself, the barman finally looked at the card. _Kenshin Himura, born in 1973._ _30 years old._ He breathed out, not knowing if he had to be relieved or not. _Geez, I see Immortals everywhere in my old age._ He cleared his throat. "Ah, sorry about that."

"It's okay," Kenshin put aside his annoyance to reassure him kindly. "It's not the first time this has happened, that it isn't."

_That, I can well imagine_, Joe suppressed a grin as he set about to pour a drink for Kenshin, eyeing the young man discreetly. _He's got to be carded each time he wants a drink_. "I'd say he's had a _long_ time to get used to it," Methos piped up suddenly.

The Watcher fumbled with the glass and looked up sharply at the man. He received a innocent blink for his trouble. _Innocent, my ass! Did he just stress the word 'long'?_

Kenshin winced and gave a conciliatory smile. "_Maa_, Adam…"

"Yes?" Another innocent look, this time aimed at the read head.

Kenshin gave a suffering sigh.

_Immortal trying to protect his secret or mortal having been ridden too many times about his looks?_ Both possibilities seemed real to Joe and he couldn't discard either one without more information.

Information Methos intended to make him work for, if his smug look was anything to go by. _Oh, hell, if Kenshin's a Immortal, it's one Methos trusts and that's good enough for me,(6) _Joe decided. In that case, he could either work himself up in knots trying to figure out his identity and be a source of entertainment for the old man or…

"Hey Adam, I think I've found a way to keep you bar tab from reaching the ceiling," he announced, his decision taken.

"Is that so?" Methos cocked a bland eyebrow, in all appearances a perfect mask of disinterest. _Too bad I know you better than that, Old man, _Joe's smile was all white teeth.(7) Methos' tab was an old game between them. The Immortal always paid. Well, eventually. But Joe's part in their friendly competition was to keep it from getting too high and get Methos to show the money.

In any case, the Watcher had already waited half the night to say this piece and the timing was now _just_ right. "I know you do your translation work at home and you've got a lot of free time because of your knack for languages. So far, you've used that free time to help me set up this place," he started.

Methos nodded, encouraging Joe to go on. On one of his sides, Mac grinned, aware of what was coming. On the other one, Kenshin leaned forward curiously.

"Well, Mac here tells me you're looking for an occupation to get out of yourapartment now and then. So, since you did such good work here, you're hired," Joe continued. "Accountings and part-time barman. I'm heading back on set, get on this side of the bar, buddy." He collected Methos' glass from unresisting fingers. "And of course, no drinking on the job."

There would be hell to pay for this later. Methos could still chose to refuse and his innuendos about his Japanese friend would be even more terrible. But right now, with Methos' flabbergasted look in mind and his guitar singing between his hands, Joe couldn't care less.

_Travelin' light is the only way to fly._

_Travelin' light, just you and I._

_A one way ticket to ecstasy,_

_Away on down, just follow me._

He sneaked a look at the bar and grinned wider through the rest of the lyrics. The old Immortal had left his contrary tendencies home and _had_ gotten being the bar.

Sometimes, Joe reflected, it felt good to be him.

**End**

* * *

A/N: Here is the comment that spawned this ficlet: "You realize, the first thing Joe's going to do on seeing Kenshin is card him... I see Methos snickering for hours."

* * *

1: **_Blues Bar's opening week! 3 beers bought, 4th on the house!  
_**Incidentally, beer is made of grain. Grain is one of the main food groups. Thus, beer is good for your health and must be drunk daily and in quantity. That, and numerous other enlightened reasoning lead to one conclusion. **Kids, arguing with Methos about his beer consummation can be bad for your normal thinking process.** **Don't.**

2: In another dimension, a few pigs sprouted wings at the same instant and debated the merits of migrating south next winter. Relations between the two events are purely coincidental.

3: The presence of a coat was a hint on its own for the Watchers. Frankly, looking for the sword itself was useless. For instance, female Immortals were repeatedly reported pulling a sword from skin-tight leather outfits. The Watcher's research department had two unofficial explanations so far. The first was that the Immortals somehow used their quickening to create a pocket dimension in which they hid their weapons. The second involved pheromones, Douglas Adam's _somebody else's problem_ and several tricks physiologically impossible to perform without accelerated healing. The last fact was proven beyond a doubt. Joe had shaken his head and sent flowers to the hospital when he had heard about it.

4: Moderately to highly pissed off. The sensible Immortals, he could talk out of challenging. Mostly, that left the morons, the power-hungry and the psychopaths. Dealing with them did nothing for his good mood. Of course, there were exceptions. But Kenshin still thought Saitou was the only one amused by the idiot who mistook the short red-head for a woman back in the 60's. Personally, he was doing his level best to forget that moment ever happened. The man was clearly drunk. And stoned. No, _really_. Also, the shirt had been magenta, not pink and an amused Saitou didn't mean anything. Dealing with morons, power-hungry and psychopaths always left the man with a smirk.

5: Not that Methos discriminated against curious old mortal friends. Old, young, mortal, immortal, friends, people-he-didn't-want-as-enemies-so-he'd-just-avoid-them-especially-those-who-were-really-out-for-his-head, he was an equal opportunity manipulative son of a bitch who wouldn't know the meaning of straightforward if it bit him in the ass.

6: Within reason, of course. The name _Byron_ came to mind. And then, there was the thing with a few buddies that could be termed a youth mistake if only it hadn't led to a mention in the bestselling book of the whole humanity. Although for Methos' defence, it will have to be said he turned down the sequel.

7: Kinda like a shark. Or any other predator baring their teeth. Except those had bits of red flesh and other crass stuck between more or less yellowed teeth. Joe had a toothbrush and wasn't afraid to use it. And he also liked to think he had a better breath. Better than any ground-bound predator, that is to say. Sharks didn't have bad breath. On the other hand, they smelled like fish. So, on the whole, Joe had better teeth _and_ smelled better.


	5. Ficlet 5: Laugh

A/N: Birthday ficlet, Currents 'verse, no indication of time or place, no plot and no beta. 

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**Laugh/Rurouni Kenshin** (aka, how to ask nicely for a sparring partner) 

"Laugh and die, Miburo." Bad week, bad month, bad year topped by a even worse day and Kenshin's temper was reaching its boiling point. His voice wasn't deep enough to pull off a convincing growl but the arctic steel in it was unmistakable.

A lesser man would have backed off, taking the hands gripping sheath and hilt of a katana for the warning it was. Saitou merely smirked and drew his own sword. "Am I supposed to feel threatened, Battousai?"

Blue eyes shifted to gold. "You tell me."

Sparks greeted the first clash of steel.


End file.
